


this is love

by guybuddyfriend



Category: South Park
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, My First Fanfic, Overly Descriptive, Top Kyle, buncha gay ass shit, fruits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 07:04:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6744295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guybuddyfriend/pseuds/guybuddyfriend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>stan's having a rough go of it, kyle and wendy come back and help him clean up the mess. fluffy, self-indulgent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. rub a dub dub three gays in a tub

**Author's Note:**

> good luck dude

Stan is going to marry this fucking toilet. He presses his head into the cool plastic of the back of the seat and retches again. Wendy calls his name gently, very softly, God bless her, and pushes the door open wider, slipping in and pressing it shut soundlessly behind her. He hears her turn the knob so the metals on the doorframe and sticking out of the side of the door won’t click when she pushes it closed. Stan thinks he might cry, she’s so fucking considerate. She takes obviously careful steps and slides around him, onto the edge of the pristine bathtub. She turns her knees towards the wall so he can’t see them out of his peripherals and trails her fingers down his spine before settling a firm hand onto his back. She’s pleasantly cool against his overheated and thinly clothed skin and rubs horizontally across the jagged bumps of his backbone. He breathes out through his nose, closing his eyes firmly and shifting to press his forehead harder into the seat. She is thankfully silent and lets him breathe harshly, lets it turn into an almost hyperventilation before letting it dissolve into helpless sobs.

Stan stares down at the water in the bowl, stares at the ripples his tears and drool and snot are making, and hauls his right arm up to join his left curled over the seat above his head, darkening the bowl and covering his face. He momentarily enjoys the comfort that having his forearms bracing him more firmly brings. The smell of scrubbed porcelain and lemon-scented toilet cleaner seems to get stronger with every passing minute, or maybe every passing hour- there’s no way he could ever tell. Wendy’s hand moves vertically now, up and down his spine and then up to his neck. She rests her hand there at the base of his skull for a moment, letting him adjust to the movement of warmth before she starts to press her fingers gently into the muscle there, kneading into the back of his neck and behind his ears. She tugs very gently on the bottom hem of his hat, and he can feel her head turn inquisitively, so fucking polite, more than he can see it. He doesn’t move, just flexes his back a little, arching up for her touch on his back again. She sighs very quietly and tugs the hat off. The breath is yanked out of him when the cool air immediately freezes his sweaty hair. He breathes in deeply and contemplates apologizing to her- he knows he’s disgusting; grimy with sweat, greasy-haired and rumpled. He hasn’t showered in four days, he hasn’t changed any of his clothes at all in longer, and he feels so sick at the thought he retches again. He feels the tears prick at his eyes and tries with all of his being to make his mouth move, to form words resembling something to express his regret.

Wendy, though, proves to him, to his amazement, that she is in fact a saint. Wendy, Stan is sure in that moment, without a doubt, is an absolute fucking saint, who stepped down graciously from the right hand of God and into this pinky-beige and white bathroom to show him and the world that there really is a deity up there that looks out for even the worst sinner. She is running her strong, cool, pure, perfect, saintly, well-manicured and beautifully calloused fingers through his filthy, matted, greasy and flat hair like he would imagine Jesus had done to Judas after learning of his betrayal, if they had a relationship like this one. Stan thinks he would cry if he had any fluids left in him. None of his thoughts are making any fucking sense. The pounding in his temples and behind his left eye that he had actually become accustomed to after eight days recede at her touch to almost nothing. She shakes out the thick strands in a stripe from his forehead to his neck, and then turns on the bathwater.

Wendy runs both her hands under the water, he hears her rubbing them together, and then the plug is pulled into place. He listens to the water splash into itself and opened his eyes, face-to-face with the tiny holes just under the rim of the toilet bowl that water flood out of when it is flushed. He pulls his head out from literally inside the toilet bowl and rests his head, still facing down, on his forearms. His back is opened up now and he can breathe a little easier, less curled into himself. Wendy’s wet hands make a sudden appearance at his temples and he hears her shift to get a better angle at his left side. Her hands are still cool under the warm wetness of the bathwater, and she presses her middle fingers directly into the soft spots on his temples, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles. Tears do come now, leaking out as he whimpers her name. Wendy lets out a quick, pleased huff at his acknowledgement and he can hear her smile through the breath. Wendy carves her nails through the hair just back from the sides of his head and uses her forefingers to rub just in front of his tragus, pushing the hair that forms his sideburns up and away from his face. Stan turns his body fully towards her and she scrapes his hair back and back and back, gathering the black mass in her left fist and sliding her hairband off her wrist with her right. Wendy twists it off expertly, painlessly, and he raises his head to look her in the eye.

She smiles down at him, all warm brown irises and a twisting half smile as she tries to show her contentment at his improvement. She takes his cheeks into her hands and presses the softest and most loving kiss he has ever received in the history of ever to his forehead. Stan breathes her scent in- a light floral perfume and detergent- and tilts his face up further to her. She pulls away and, like she can’t even help herself, leans back in and kisses his cheek. She moves her mouth in quick, butterfly pecks down to the corner of his mouth, and then he lets his head fall back while she mouths the underside of his jaw. He finds his hands in his lap and moves them to her, but hesitates when he realizes he doesn’t know what to do with them. He settles his right where her skirt meets the bathtub behind her and his left curls around her ankle, arching up while she bends into him. She makes it all the way to the hollow of his throat before she remembers herself and pulls back. Stan tries to follow her but her hands find his face again from wherever they had been moments before, holding him steady.  
They stare at each other for ever and ever, he’s lost in her face and she lets him lose himself. She never stops, ever, like this, for anyone, except sometimes, for him. Stan’s already confused in his own head just thinking that, so he settles himself further into her hold and just takes her in. Wendy’s usually sharp pietersite eyes are liquid for him, drowning him and keeping him afloat at the same time. The very slight crinkles at the corner of those eyes are his pride and joy- they show he makes her laugh, sometimes. Her high-cut cheekbones and porcelain skin make him feel like he’s staring up at royalty, but the chapped, pale lips and very faint scar under her right eye remind him that he’s in the presence of nothing less than a warrior-queen. Smooth black hair frames her face in almost-waves- the length has it sitting on her shoulders and further down her back.

Stan pulls his hands back into his lap, and then automatically reaches up to her. His long, tan and corded arms reach well past over her shoulders and her soft, cool-toned flesh looks unrealistically delicate and untouchable next to his own veiny, hairy forearms. Wendy lets him wrap his arms around her neck and takes to running her hands up and down his ribcage gently, eyes letting him know she understands everything he’s trying to tell her. Wendy reaches to her right without breaking eye contact and the water shuts off. Stan lets his arms drop and he lays his head weakly in her lap while she stirs the water with her hand, running it in circles and letting the steam escape. When the cold fluorescent lights shut off suddenly, neither of them flinch. The door creaks open slowly, and the handle turns with the same caution as the first time it was closed. Kyle’s concerned face appears around the door, and Stan’s eyes dart up to meet him. The worry melts off his face and he, too, slides into the bathroom. Kyle shuts the door as quietly as he can- which, in all honesty, is not at all very quietly. Kyle Broflovski, Stan feels, is best described as a very apologetic disaster. Stan can feel Wendy smiling and rolling her eyes just by the slight change in her breathing from his position prone half on the floor and half in her lap. Stan knows she agrees.

Kyle’s crosses the small bathroom in less than a stride and drops to a crouch that folds out into a meditative seat. Long, solid arms wrap underneath Stan’s armpit and over his hip and pull him into a lap made of lean muscle under a thick layer of soft white flesh and bony ankles. Stan feels his eyes rolling subconsciously, Kyle knows he’s fucking perfect. Wendy is draining some of the water out of the bathtub, and Stan feels a little remorse at the loss of what was probably too-hot water. His eyes are locked on Kyle, though he knows Wendy is just behind him, trying correct the temperature with cold water running into the steaming tub. Stan feels his torso lift as Kyle shifts, bringing his knees up instead of out and pushing back from the tub to give Wendy room to maneuver.

Stan is nothing more than a ragdoll when Kyle settles him, now sitting up, into his lap. Stan hates this, hates feeling so dizzy and delirious, feeling helpless against these two immortals made of ice and lava. Kyle’s heat seeps through him and changes Stan’s own heat, crystallizing the feverish burn of his skin into a more wholesome, deep, bone-setting warmth. The sweat on his skin feels stickier than ever, and the smell of his own body odour finally reaches his nose. Kyle watches Stan’s nose crinkle and grins, kissing his contorted lips and bracing Stan’s head with his elbow. The pinching at the bridge of Stan’s nose doesn’t ease, but his mouth works into Kyle’s and his hands find their way around a lean back and over sharp, jutting scapulae.

Stan stares at Kyle’s curls, now plastered to his forehead instead of swept up and back into whatever Kyle calls his hairdo. The scent of the divine body underneath him is strong and musky, and when Kyle pulls off his mouth to look at Wendy working diligently over the bath Stan is faced with the fierce cut of Kyle’s jawline, dotted with red angry-looking almost-zits and what looks like either a rash or ropeburn. The confusion melts away as soon as Stan remembers he’s staring up at the side-effects of a helmet strap, and not a noose or whatever the fuck Stan thought he was looking at. The sweat under Kyle’s arms and along his hairline is fresh, unlike Stan’s, and the heat and hard breathing must be adrenaline from either a very heated argument with someone or a recent basketball practice. Stan ducks his head into Kyle’s bicep and flushes, feeling both ill and pleased with himself over all the brainwork that sleuthing took.

Kyle shifts him upwards and Stan felt his head drop as the supporting elbow was straightened. Another pair of tough hands finds its way to the small of his back and just above his coccyx, pulling him away from the soft cradle of Kyle’s lap. Stan realizes that the golden-freckled hands pushing him up and the marble hands pulling him away were trying to right him, and he pitches forward onto his own feet. Kyle hauls up beside him and replaces Wendy as his support. Snowy hands work the hem of his shirt upwards and gilded fingers wrap around his ribs and hook into his beltloops. Stan is barely touching the floor, he feels weightless in four strong arms and two stronger presences.

With his shirt discarded and Wendy working hard at undoing his belt (that he had on backwards and upside down, Wendy and Kyle both insist later) Stan would have felt horribly awkward if he wasn’t already completely invalid. He hates himself for loving this- he loves the attention, he loves the feeling of being taken care of, of being loved and- Jesus Christ- worshipped. These two deities, Hermes’ doppelganger and Aphrodite’s twin, are worshipping him, hands moving with reverence and pure, undiluted love. Tears burn at his eyes and even as his pants drop to the floor and fingers tug at the band of his briefs he feels like a god in his own right. Stan breathes deeply and steps out of his own underwear, feeling his socks get peeled off by rough fingers. The socks come off drily, but they were crusty at the bottom, so hold form even as they hit the tile. Stan feels like retching again out of embarrassment, but Kyle whispers an awed “fuck” and Wendy’s sharp nasal inhale tell him they understand the appalling circumstances.

By some miracle these two statues of perfection get him into the tub, warm water pooling into the dips left by his collarbones and rushing like the two separate sides of Moses’ Red Sea over his legs as they’re submerged. Stan hates baths, hates sitting in the water and stewing in his own juices, and Kyle and Wendy know it well. They work quickly, almost apologetically, but Stan knows that isn’t right. Why would angels apologize to scum like him?

He feels the filth get scraped off his lower back and up his sides when Wendy finally finds the loofah hanging from the showerhead. He lets Kyle rub the bar of exfoliating soap over his sinewy calves and behind his knees. The tension in his shoulders melts away while Kyle and Wendy slowly bring him back to life, all working fingers and reaching arms. They spare no expense, neither of them know what to do with all twenty four variously shaped bottles, five bars of differently coloured soap and eight separate tiny tub containers, so they use them all. Kyle works to open each of them and set them in a careful line across the side of the bathtub connected to the wall while Wendy reads the labels and moves them around. Stan looks dimly at the lineup of his cleaning supplies and feels a wet laugh bubble in his throat. They’re lining them up by order of operation.

The three exfoliants are down near his feet, closest to Kyle, followed by an arrangement of his scented body scrubs, all five bars of soap and his tall bottle of home-mixed hardcore body cleanser, then his shower gels and then his shampoo, followed by a bottle he definitely doesn’t recognize and then two moisturizers. Kyle mutters something about this being ridiculous and Wendy wraps protective arms around Stan’s chest, pulling him back and settling her mouth onto the soft spot just below the ponytail on top of his head. She kisses him a couple of times and then lets him go, and the way she goes about the whole process is so sickeningly sweet that he barely feels any remorse over soaking her cardigan.

They’re both completely dressed, but dripping in various spots; Kyle has a patch on his left glute where water’s splashed up from the tub and onto his jeans, Wendy’s forgotten to roll up her sleeves so her cardigan is drenched up to her elbows. The surge of wet emotion in his neck and chest is enough to have him pull his knees up to his chest, fighting tears. God, he loves them. Kyle pulls the first of the lineup off the tub wall and opens up the container. He dips his fingers into the sea salt mixture and stares at his fingers for a minute. Wendy snorts behind Stan and reaches around him to scrape some of the exfoliant onto her own fingers, then gently works her hands over Stan’s face.

His head falls back to give her easier access and Kyle just holds the goop and pot in upturned hands for her to scoop from. She works those hands down his neck, more gentle than Stan would have been with himself, but he supposes she doesn’t want to irritate the skin. She moves down his chest to where the skin meets the water and then pulls her hands back and over his shoulders, working the product into the flesh. Kyle scrapes his fingers against the side of the tiny pot and twists the cap closed. Wendy pulls water from the basin up over his shoulders and rinses his back, wet hands sliding over his fresh skin. Kyle has a clean washcloth ready, dipped in the water and slowly moving up his neck and under his jaw. Stan’s brow furrows as he realizes Kyle is shaking, just slightly. His eyes flash open and he stares at Kyle, who has his tongue clamped between his teeth and lazerbeam focus on Stan’s chin. Stan almost bursts out laughing when he realizes Kyle has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. When warm brown eyes meet his, Stan feels all the laughter drain away, making room for the sudden, inexplicable welling of adoration in his chest. Kyle is trying so hard, tongue still out and hands still shaking.

He wipes the blue exfoliant off Stan’s cheeks and forehead, careful around his eyes and gentle with his mouth. When Wendy’s hands slide over his shoulders to reach his chest, Stan pulls his shoulders together in the back, exposing his chest further for her. Kyle reaches to open another tub of exfoliant, obviously unsure of himself, but Wendy shakes her head and Kyle hands her the three containers, stacked carefully in his freckled hands. Stan hears her place them beside her on the plateau that connects the wall to the short edge of the tub, and Kyle pops open the first bottle of body scrub. Wendy pulls the bottle from him and Kyle hooks his hands under Stan’s arms, pulling him up to a standing position.

The sudden cool air hitting him from all sides shocks Stan into a state of alertness, hands grasping at strong shoulders and dark hair. Kyle is pushing up against him suddenly, keeping him steady and holding him close. Thick arms wrap around Stan’s shoulders and waist and Stan can do nothing more than cling to the heated body around him while Wendy presses herself into Stan’s back, reaching around him to flick the water on again. Stan gasps and sputters when she twists the lever and the water switches to shooting out of the showerhead, trying to tear away from the blast. Kyle moves about half a foot to the left, though, and suddenly Stan is safe behind a wall of protection, huddled close against Wendy whose arms are locked around his chest. They let him breathe for a minute, Kyle’s got one hand on Stan’s hip and the other with the rest of his torso, twisted away and fiddling with the knobs. Wendy slides her hands up and into Stan’s hair, massaging the water in for a moment, and Stan can feel her eyes on the back of his neck.

Her arms fall but her chest stays pressed to his back, and Stan hears another of the bottles lined up snap open. Wendy squirts something that smells very strongly of oranges onto the loofah- no, into her hand, Stan realizes, as the cool gel is smeared along his back by warm and calloused fingers. Wendy works into his back, using the soap as a lubricant to massage into his shoulders and rub firm circles into tough spots knotted along his neck and shoulder blades. She kneads his sides and soaps up his lower back with, again, a kind of incredible reverence, like she can’t believe she’s allowed to touch him this intimately.  
Stan feels like he’s letting her in on a secret that no one else has ever dreamed of knowing, Stan feels powerful and strong, but no more than she is. He feels like he is suddenly on par with her and Kyle, like he can be included in this exclusive Olympic club, and it makes him feel like strawberry lemonade on a hot day. Stan is confused by this thought, because it’s not very hot and he doesn’t like strawberry lemonade usually, but with a jolt he realizes that Kyle loves lemonade and Wendy is quite partial to a strawberry or two herself. Stan is their strawberry lemonade, and the thought becomes much less confusing and more embarrassingly juvenile than anything. He takes comfort in knowing this is confined at least to his head, and turns his attention back to Kyle, who is now using the same soap Wendy had just moments ago to lather up his hips and abdomen.

Stan stares, mesmerized, at Kyle’s concentrated furrowing brow, feeling his soft stomach give under Kyle’s slender fingers. His thighs, ass and calves are next, and it’s only when he involuntarily tips his head back does he realize that Wendy’s hands are sudsing up his neck and that the spray of water is now hitting Stan directly in the chest. Short fingers work behind his ears and rough hands scrub at dried something on his left calf. When Kyle stands up from his crouch, Stan finds his arms being raised with Kyle’s head, his fingers tangled in the drenched red ringlets and Kyle’s head actually ducked a little to ease the pain of the pull. Stan immediately loosened his grip, but with Kyle’s hands suddenly washing underneath his arms fervently and Wendy’s scrubbing with a loofah desperately at his sides, Stan realizes there’s little reason to fully let go.

Wendy’s gentleness over his ribs remind him that the way he’d been behaving recently had left large purple bruises along his sides, and in his own defense against the shower’s initial offensive spray he had locked his upper arms to his sides, denying both of his saviours access to perhaps the worst area of his body. It’s dark, it has been since Kyle shut the light off in the bathroom, but Stan makes his best effort to look down at the damage. The skin on his torso is mottled yellows and blues, with purple blossoms and pink and red gashes making him look like some kind of twisted human Jackson Pollock painting, if Pollock was much calmer and sparse with his paint. He stares down and down and down, past his round thighs and sinewy, veiny calves, into the now very full tub of water.  
Stan is losing himself again, in the sensation of being rubbed in every sense of the word. His skin feels fresher, clean and tight. The sudsy water is sloughing off him in tidal waves, his hair is drenched and his chin is itchy. Stan is understanding Wendy’s hesitation at his jawline when exfoliating his face- he hasn’t shaved in over a week. Wendy has no idea what to do with hair on his face like this, since he always keeps himself in check. Stan looks up to apologize to her, but finds himself staring deeply, mournfully, into the wrong colour brown. He blinks twice and doesn’t close his mouth, instead taking in Kyle’s own ragged appearance. Kyle usually looks a little wild, with a heated frenzy in his eyes and haphazard freckles, but the dark, dark circles under his eyes are a dead giveaway: he’d been losing sleep over Stan. Stan is still trying to apologize to Wendy for his probably disgusting looking facial hair, but instead attempts to convey his regret through a very deep, spiritual connection imparted by smushing his face against Kyle’s in the sloppiest kiss of the century. Stan is not good at this right now.

Kyle is laughing at him, but kissing him back as best as he can with a grin on his face. Kyle pulls away from Stan and kisses his temple, whispering to Wendy that Stan sends her his thanks. It’s not quite what Stan was trying to say, but the fact that anything got over to Wendy was incredible. Stan ducks his head again to stare at the murky water in the tub and thinks someone should pull the plug soon or the water would overflow. He’s staring own at his own naked ankles when he sees Kyle’s legs move and Kyle’s legs have things like socks and jeans on them- and a slight twist of his head reveals that Wendy’s stockings are submerged in the water as well- and Stan tears his gaze up again to Kyle but when Kyle had blocked the water for him he was wearing a shirt and clothes and a hat and Wendy still had her cardigan on and Stan whirls around and four arms steady him and he is staring down at a fully clothed, sodden Wendy Testaburger and Stan tries to scream and apologize and panic all at the same time so it just comes out as a strangled sob-

Kyle has him, suddenly, by the waist. Stan is locked into place and Wendy has so much concern in her eyes that Stan feels a little ill. Her hands are firm against his scruffy cheeks and she is whispering assurances to him. Stan feels his heart slow down and he realizes that they both know that they are fully clothed in a shower, they both know that he is hurting, that he needs them, that nothing in the world means as much to him as they do right now. Kyle’s arms loosen but do not fall, and Wendy’s eyes are crinkling in Stan’s absolute favourite fucking way with her mouth quirking and her chin jutting out. She wraps her arms around his torso and gives him a very quick squeeze, burying her head under his chin for just a moment. Her hands are replaced by Kyle’s hips again when she pulls away. Kyle is shifting behind him, and Stan hears the plug get twisted up, the drain making a horrible drowning noise as it is flooded with filthy water.

A glance down and to his left shows that the two people holding him up in every way have methodically moved bottles away from the edge and probably to behind Wendy on the plateau as they used them. Stan only vaguely remembered one smell, but they had definitely used only one exfoliant as well as the body scrub and what Stan can only assume to be the home-mixed all-in-one that Kyle made him once a couple of months ago. They’re using one of everything, Stan decides, and he knows he’s correct because in their situation that is exactly what he would do. The only things left are his moisturizers, his shampoo and whatever the hell that weirdly shaped bottle is there on the end. Wendy squirts way too much of the coconut shampoo into her hand, but the protest dies on his lips when his eyes roam over her sloping shoulders and to her own mass of hair. There’s no way she uses any less than that amount on her own hair, so how could she know? And when she starts working into his scalp, he feels his entire body melt.

His head is probably his most erogenous zone, aside from maybe his penis, maybe, and the way Wendy’s manicured nails rake through the thick tendrils makes his toes curl. She scrubs down in front of his ears and Stan fights a moan, knowing that acting on any urges will make things infinitely more difficult for the three of them. To Stan’s amusement, she lathers up whatever’s there on his chin and jawline, too- Wendy sees hair and shampoos it. Bless her, she’s trying. He hears Kyle snicker behind him, and Stan feels one arm leave his waist to pick up where Wendy leaves off. She reaches around them both to rinse her hands in the spray blocked by Kyle’s imposing body while Kyle works the suds into Stan’s soft spot on the back of his head and down the baby hairs on his neck. As Kyle works, Stan hears him become a little disgruntled- it’s been at least a month since he’d had a haircut, at least. Stan’s hair was actually brushing just past his shoulders at this point, and Kyle made it clear he wasn’t a fan.  
It takes the two of them longer than it takes just Stan to do his hair, but he supposes that since he has more hair than any of them ever remember seeing on him and neither of them do exactly this kind of thing on the regular they can be forgiven. Wendy squeezes the unfamiliar bottle out into her hand, and the strong scent of vanilla smacks him in the face like a sudden memory. This is exactly what Wendy’s bathroom smells like after her showers. He has no idea what she’s doing but if it means smelling like that he’ll subject himself to anything. Though, Stan thinks, with these two, he’d subject himself to anything even without the promise of smelling delectable. That’s love.

Kyle finishes working the shampoo into the back of his head with a final couple of rubs behind his ears and then takes two steps back, still supporting Stan but leaving him once again to the mercy of the spray. Stan tips his head back and lets the water beat into his head, separating the strands and riptiding the soap off his scalp. His hands find his hair and he shakes it out, letting the suds slide through his fingers and down his forearms. When his hair feels clean, he lets his head fall back to its default location on his neck, eyes boring into the wall above Wendy’s head. Kyle steps back into him and Stan feels a little more guilt in his chest at the feeling of Kyle’s soaked jeans against his thighs.

Wendy has just finished rubbing the Vanilla Smell in her hands and immediately shoves them both into the ends of Stan’s hair. She pulls very gently at the roots when she works this through, carding her fingers all around his scalp gently. Stan’s eyes slide down the wall to meet Wendy’s. She smears the very last bits of it over his beard, but with the quirk of her lips he can safely assume this is her own little joke to herself now. Kyle moves back again and Stan goes to tip his head back, but Wendy snatches Kyle’s beltloops and tugs them back together again, closer to her. They’re both taken by surprise, but Wendy silences Stan with a very languid kiss, obviously not wanting to have to explain herself. Kyle’s hips are pressing much more firmly against Stan’s ass and he feels the beginning of a serious erection, realizing Wendy is probably squeezing Kyle’s ass or otherwise distracting him as well. This goes on for an eternity and a half, Wendy kissing him more thoroughly than he can remember and Kyle dropping his head into Stan’s right shoulder, groaning. Finally Wendy pulls away, pushing gently at Stan’s chest. Stan lets Kyle help him this time, four hands instead of just Stan’s two rinsing out the Vanilla Smell.

Wendy opens up a cucumber melon moisturizer and starts rubbing Stan up and down with it, working quickly and quietly. The stuff sinks into his skin quite quickly, and Wendy wipes her hands on her skirt before using Stan as a steady to step out of the tub onto the bathmat. She helps Kyle haul Stan out of the tub and together they dry him off as best as they can with the sopping mass of black dripping from atop his head. Wendy moves a fresh towel through it, drying up as much excess water as she can while Kyle tucks in the towel around Stan’s waist.


	2. stan expresses through partial omniscience exactly how gay he can get about this situation

Kyle pops two Tylenol from the bottle on the sink and hands them to Stan with a glass of water from the tap. Stan knocks both of these back quickly and shuts his eyes tightly, knowing as Kyle leaves the room that very soon the light will be flicked on. Kyle returns with the anticipated light-flicking, hauling Stan’s desk chair in with him. He sets it down in front of the mirror and Stan sits in it as soon as the legs hit the floor. His knees have all but given out, and Wendy is sliding on the braces as soon as his ass hit the cushion. God, he loves them. Kyle pulls Stan’s razor out of the top drawer and hands Wendy a pair of long scissors from the bottom one. Wendy starts work on his hair, and Stan trusts her as much as he trusts his mother, which, to be fair, is quite a bit. Wendy knows what she’s doing, and even if she completely fucked it up, there wouldn’t really be any reason for anyone to see it. He could keep his hat on all the time, no one would say anything.

Kyle is shaving Stan’s face, on the other hand, and empirical data suggests that this is what Stan should be the most worried about. Kyle rarely shaves, and despite the fact that Kyle’s facial hair grows naturally very curly and very red, Stan is also acutely aware that Kyle doesn’t even attempt to let it grow even a little bit, despite looking like a fucking sex god with a full beard. Stan knows with every fibre of his being that Kyle Broflovski cannot be assed to do maintenance and edge cleanup on the daily when his hair grows so wild and fast. Kyle just shaves the whole thing right off, so he looks a little more put together and less like a fifteen year old without a strong parental influence. Anyways, Kyle is the biggest bull in the smallest and most delicate of china shops, so Stan keeps his head as steady as he can while Kyle works. Stan’s been working on this sucker since he was sixteen, and he’d appreciate if he could keep it on his face.

He feels Wendy shake out his hair and tufts of soft black fuzz float down in front of his eyes. He listens to her root around in the drawers but keep his gaze on the mirror directly ahead of him, as though moving even his eyes could disrupt Kyle’s concentration. Wendy pulls something big and trailing out of the drawer and Stan sends a very quick but very earnest prayer up to God when he hears her plug it in. Kyle’s hands back off Stan’s face when Kyle needs to make eye contact with Wendy for affirmation- is she really doing this? Is she sure? Does she know what she’s doing? Does she need help? When Kyle is satisfied with all affirmative answers except for the last one, he gets back to work on Stan’s jawline. Stan listens to the buzz of the electric razor as Wendy drags it across the sides and back of his head, and is relatively certain that he has actually died and this is his cleansing purgatory. Not half as bad as he’d have thought.

Wendy finishes off and replaces the razor with a hair dryer, and by the time the hot air is melting his consciousness back into his body Kyle has re-towelled off his body and is gathering the hair into the three towels Wendy must have spread on the floor before Kyle put the chair down. They knew they were going to shear him all along, and Stan feels a little stupid for thinking either of these two would let him go with a mop of hair that looked like it was melting down towards his chin.  
Stan stands shakily and Wendy runs her hands over his newly buzzed sides. Stan raises his hands to the fluff at the top and feels his eyelids and eyebrows drop at the realization: she’s given him an undercut. He knows it’s all the rage, but he’d never felt like it would look right on him. He worries his bottom lip, thinking he must look ridiculous. He sighs deeply and turns his body into Wendy’s more fully, letting her get her hands on him properly while Kyle rights the room around them. Wendy is mouthing at his jaw again, kissing at his neck and letting out tiny moans every so often. Stan tries to look down at her, which proves difficult when she’s leaving a hickey under his chin. She pulls away and turns him by the shoulders towards the door, where Kyle appears now with his shirt tossed into the hamper along with the four towels and Wendy’s cardigan, skirt and stockings. Kyle’s soft smile falls and his mouth is left open just a little, pink tongue darting out to wet his lips very quickly while his eyes move over Stan’s new haircut and mostly naked body.

Kyle takes two very long and very powerful steps forward and Stan would have taken exactly that many back if Wendy wasn’t there behind him with her arms winding around his torso. Kyle shoves his hands into Stan’s hair and kisses him with a bruising force, pressing as much of his body as he can into Stan’s. He must like the haircut. The thought of this new look pleasing Wendy and Kyle, as well as taking a surprising amount of weight off his head without feeling disagreeable turns him on, actually, and Stan finds himself excited share this new experience with them. Stan moves his mouth against Kyle’s as best he can with the exhaustion in his bones weighing down his skin, leaning back against Wendy and fiddling with the weird tuck of his towel.

Kyle is moving away too quickly for Stan to follow, so his eyes open blearily and he tries to grasp at Wendy as she follows Kyle out into the bedroom. Stan takes a deep breath, leaning against the doorframe for a moment. He heaves a couple more breaths and tries to understand exactly what they want him to do. After a hundred and two years of standing freshly washed, dried and turned on at the door, Stan hauls himself up from the lean and moves sluggishly into his bedroom. It is thankfully darker in here.  
Someone, probably Kyle- fucker loves sunlight- has thrown open his curtain and his bed has fresh sheets on it. The Kleenex wads are all tossed safely into his trash can and they sit by the door, waiting to be taken down to the bigger kitchen garbage. Wendy rests her chin in her hand, elbow resting on the table housing his computer. She is clicking along something, face stoic with concentrated thought. Kyle is pulling clothes out of Stan’s drawers, shaking out each item with a critical eye. He lays the selected outfit over his arm and transfers it carefully so it sits folded over the back of his desk chair and takes Wendy’s hips where she is bent to stare at the screen in both his hands.  
Kyle presses his crotch to her ass and Stan watches Wendy adjust her hands to flat on his desk and push back, face never moving and eyes reading carefully. Kyle leans down to kiss along her back, whispering assurances and words of praise left right and centre. Kyle moves his hips in very slight but firm grinds up and down, and Wendy finally clicks on something. Stan is staring at them now, and music suddenly pours out of his speakers. The volume is diminished quickly, hardly above a quiet whisper with a quick couple of taps of Wendy’s acrylic nails on Stan’s keyboard. Wendy straightens, which throws Kyle off, but turns quickly in his arms and kisses him, tugging his lip out from between his teeth and into her mouth. Her right leg hitches onto Kyle’s hip and now Kyle is angled backwards, trying to get as much of Wendy on top of him as he can without falling over. Wendy lets out a pleased moan and it seems they both pull apart in unison, like they just had a full conversation that ended mutually while attached to one another at the mouth. She is wearing just her blouse and some underwear and Kyle’s belt is already unbuckled.   
Stan glances around his room one more time as Wendy moves to him, and takes in the fact that all of his dirty clothes are off the floor, his desk is organized and there is a plate of something sitting in the middle of it. Wendy is pulling him on top of her, around her, and leading him to the bed. Kyle removes his belt fully and lays it over Stan’s clothes on the back of his desk chair. Kyle’s jeans follow suit, and Stan is dumped on the bed before he has a chance to realize Wendy’s using the hair tie that had just been in his own hair to pull a loose braid together over her left shoulder. Kyle climbs over the footboard and Wendy sits on Stan’s right, tucked against his arm and still tying off her hair.   
Kyle pushes him back, onto the bed and settles between his legs, just in his boxers. Kyle untucks the towel from Stan’s waist and just when Stan is beginning to worry about being too tired to keep an erection for his two lovers Stan finds his feet being pulled together instead of wrapped around Kyle’s waist. Kyle is sliding a fresh pair of briefs over his calves and tugging them up into place on Stan’s hips. Wendy has finished her braid and tips to her right, head landing on the bed beside Stan’s pillow. Kyle slides his right arm underneath Stan’s waist and lays it flat, so Wendy can roll into Stan’s chest and on top of Kyle’s arm.  
A knee finds its way between Stan’s lower thighs against his ass and it is still taking him time to realize that they aren’t going to fuck him. Wendy throws her right leg over Stan’s hip and probably over Kyle’s, too, but Stan isn’t about to roll over to check. Her fists are now hands, pressing against his toned chest and rubbing up towards his neck. Kyle locks his left arm over Stan, over Wendy’s back and pulls them all together. Wendy has Stan’s face in her hands now, and she is using her thumbs to rub gentle circles just under his eyes, over the bridge of his nose, spending extra time in the purple circles where Stan’s reading glasses sit. He realizes she is easing the swelling in his sinuses, and he feels his face loosen. Kyle’s mouth at his left shoulder takes him from his haze and Stan feels his neck crack as he pulls his shoulder down to give Kyle better access. Four of Stan’s pillows are on the floor, he realizes suddenly, which is why his head is so parallel to the floor.  
The soft ambient music plays as the sky lightens almost imperceptibly, Stan pressed on all sides by things that have made him feel safe without fail. Kyle shifts and Wendy moves with him, Stan left lost in the sudden decision for movement. He feels the blanket get pulled from under the single pillow, from under his body, and the wrinkles and bumps in the bedding that had been, unbeknownst to him, pressing uncomfortably into his side, are eased away. Kyle pulls the blanket up and over the three of them, already warm from their body heat. Wendy’s eyes flutter closed, eyelashes tickling Stan’s sternum, and Kyle heaves a sigh against the back of his neck. Wendy’s left arm stays curled between them, giving her leverage in case she needed to move away; both she and Stan know that Kyle is pinned until they both decided to get up. She’s a tactician, even when she’s half asleep. Her right arm, however, wraps around Stan’s back. He feels her fingers flex behind him for a moment, as though to tell Kyle her arm is there now, and then fall dead against his back. Kyle shifts closer in, knee pressing further between Stan’s legs. Two deep sighs tell him to get comfortable, because they aren’t moving for a while. Stan slides in and out of consciousness, feeling his nasal passages fill up and reaching over Wendy to the nightstand’s box of tissues every so often to clear them. Stan does his best to toss them to the trash can, but after five or six tosses he remembers that the can is actually no longer next to his desk but by the door, waiting to be taken out. He thinks briefly of the wads on the floor now, and decides he can apologize later. When a full hold of sleep takes him, Stan is out like a light.  
When Stan feels consciousness slide into him, he’s a glass being filled with cold water. His arms are empty, and he hears the music turn up. It’s now less of a soft ambient track list and more upbeat indie pop. Stan’s eyes are still closed, but the change in light behind his eyelids when Wendy flicks the one in the bathroom on pulls him fully into the real world. Stan cracks his eyes open and blinks away the worst of the crust at the corner of his eyes. He shifts back, away from the light spilling out from the open bathroom door and finds himself being pulled further into a wiry, warm embrace. Kyle’s heavy breath at the shell of his ear shakes the cobwebs out of his head and Stan can feel Kyle wake up against the back of his neck. Kyle’s gotta be way too tired to move, and honestly, Stan agrees; fuck that. Kyle heaves another sigh despite Stan’s violent projecting and Stan knows what’s coming, fuck fuck fuck don’t you dare Broflovski don’t you dare-  
Kyle pulls up and away from Stan, his right arm sliding out from under Stan’s side and slender torso pulling the comforter up with him; leaving Stan fucking freezing on the bed, barely clothed, without even the comfort of his full head of hair to keep him warm. Fuck Kyle. Stan twists so his upper back is flat but his legs are still turned towards the stupid bright bathroom and glares at him, but freezes, stuck staring without any idea how to move. Fuck Kyle, but also, fuck Kyle. The eyeful of coarse red hair trailing down a soft, plump abdomen shoots through him, pooling in his stomach and at the head of his dick. Kyle twists his torso back and forth, cracking his back both ways. He leaves his hands on his hips and casts a glance down. Stan meets his eyes and Kyle stares, taking him in. Stan feels his entire body reel back and press hard into the mattress when Kyle breaks and moves down. Stan’s vision is nothing but languid movements and a long rush of air accompanied by a very morning-voice groan that vibrates the chest suddenly hovering over Stan’s face. Stan is full of Kyle, his arms threading around Kyle’s chest and hips twisting to lie flat, legs spreading to fit Kyle’s hips and back arching down to give Kyle’s soft core room to settle.  
Kyle’s forearms lock behind Stan’s head and the way his elbows press into the pillow on either side of his ears gives Stan an impression of the incredible power and weight hovering just above his body that leaves very little to imagination. Stan pulls his legs up so his feet are flat on the bed and his knees are bent on either side of Kyle’s hips, giving him leverage to press his crotch up hard against Kyle’s. Kyle forces a harsh breath out of his nose and shoves his face into the side of Stan’s head. Stan can feel the strong Roman nose tracing the curl of his ear and feels chapped lips brush over his freshly trimmed jowls. Stan tips his head back and Kyle draws a long, curling line down the side of Stan’s neck and against his Adam’s apple. Kyle presses a firm kiss to the hollow of Stan’s throat, and now Kyle is too low for Stan to keep his arms around his chest. Stan can’t bring himself to lift his hands away, so he drags his palms up Kyle’s sides and over the cut shoulder blades, curling into thick red curls at the back of Kyle’s head. His grip tightens when Kyle’s tongue laves over the bones of his clavicles, working his way up into his beard and the cut of Stan’s jaw and back to hovering just above Stan’s face. His eyes are wide and his pupils are huge, and after a hazy delay Stan realizes that Kyle is frozen, staring into him with ever-loosening fingers locked around his wrists. Stan shoves himself back into his body and croaks out a confused question. Kyle asks him if he’s feeling alright, and Stan’s eyes hood at the implication. Kyle is asking him for his permission when he has Stan pinned to the bed in just briefs and knee braces, but Stan knows he can say no.

Stan gives him a serious, deadpan look and shoves his very full crotch into Kyle’s. Kyle continues eye contact, unmoving, hands now flat beside Stan’s. Stan lets out a snarl and jerks his hands down from the headboard, and how they got there suddenly no longer matters, despite Stan feeling like he should definitely know whether he put them up there himself or Kyle pulled them there from the back of his head. Either way, Stan locks one arm around Kyle’s neck and the other hand shoves down the back of Kyle’s boxers and squeezes. Stan’s entire lower back is lifted off the mattress with the force of his thrust and he finds himself trying his best to show Kyle with just the movements of his body that he wants to fuck him into next week. At this point, it should feel pathetic. It’s just one-sided frottage and complete, submissive desperation on Stan’s part, but when Kyle gives and finally starts to move against him, the mattress beneath him hasn’t ever felt so good against his back. Kyle breathes hard into his neck and his almost angry shoves against Stan’s crotch are rougher than Stan has felt in a long while. Stan turns his head, trying to catch Kyle’s eye from the side of his neck. Kyle pulls his torso off Stan’s chest and stares hard into his eyes. Stan’s breath is suddenly caught in his throat and his insides are frozen when he meets Kyle’s raw umber gaze. He doesn’t stop moving, thrusting hard against Stan even as he whispers his discontent with Stan’s actions. He hisses his feelings of betrayal at being left alone for almost a month, of anger at Stan’s inability to ask for help or admit when things are wrong. Kyle’s eyebrows furrow and he stares harder at Stan, snarling what might have been freeverse poetry if each line wasn’t punctuated by an angry thrust. Did Stan think it was okay? To leave Kyle and Wendy high and dry, waiting for him to come back to them? To ignore, and worse, to decline their calls? Was he really sick? Or was he just trying to get back at them for leaving him for a month? It wasn’t their fault, Stan, Kyle and Wendy had both been dragged somewhere else by their families. Wendy went to check out Princeton with her dad, Stan. Kyle’s mom wanted him to come with her to see his grandfather, Stan, and then they were off to Spain with Ike and Gerald. Kyle’s fucking sorry Stan needed to stay in South Park while he underwent surgery, but for fuck’s sake, Stan, why didn’t you just go with your goddamn parents when they saw Shelley off to college and flew off to LA? Your fucking surgery was done, Stan, you were cleared to fly. Why didn’t you just go like the rest of them did?

Stan jolts when he realizes this is a question directed at him specifically and requires and answer. Stan can’t answer; he just needed to be alone. He was devastated and he was lonely and he was scared and confused and hurting. Stan is horrified at the idea of losing his best friends and favourite people to the passage of time, and during their last summer together, they all ended up leaving early to figure out the future. Stan’s pissed about his knees giving out after six years of football, Stan’s pissed about Wendy getting prospects to Princeton when Stan didn’t even apply to anything, Stan’s fucking furious Kyle won’t even consider staying with him here and forgetting university altogether and Stan shoves up into him, a rage of his own driving his hips up into Kyle’s. Why won’t Kyle stay with him? Why won’t Kyle fucking try anymore? Why do Kyle and Wendy always have to fucking do everything? Why can’t I stand on my own two feet anymore? Why won’t you open up? And Kyle is interrupting him, Kyle is hissing back at him. This isn’t going to work if you keep on fucking hiding, Stan, the light is right here and Wendy and I have our arms wide open, why won’t you just fucking take our hands and move forward for once, you piece of-

And the light in the bathroom flicks off and Wendy steps out in a towel. She doesn’t even look at them, despite the fact that they were both just yelling and humping and generally making fools of themselves. Stan supposes with a tightness in his chest that he can’t explain that she’s used to this by now. Wendy slides with her back to them into the chair with all of Stan’s fresh clothes. She sighs and hums the last chords to whatever shitty indie pop song she had playing for her shower mix. She clicks around in the sudden relative silence, choosing another mix and lowering the volume. ACDC filters through his speakers and Wendy stands from the chair elegantly. She listens while Kyle sighs heavily and rolls off Stan, laying at his side suddenly limp. Wendy stares out the window at the foot of the bed and lets her left hand trace imperceptible patterns into the dark wood. She’s careful, now. She breathes in through her mouth and out through her nose, setting a pace for both of them. Stan finds himself falling in with her, and despite Kyle’s best efforts, he lets out another dramatic sigh in time with Wendy’s gentle breath. Her eyes are downcast now, and she is obviously not going to look at them. She lifts her head with an inhale stares out at the street as the sky continues to lighten. There mustn’t have been even ten minutes between her rise and her return. Kyle pitches his body upwards and scrubs his hands up his freckled face. Stan feels whatever’s left in his stomach after two days of vomiting curdle when Wendy faces out as she lets her eyes drift shut, standing dripping wet and silent above them like some sort of stupid fucking angel, benevolenting all over them. Who the fuck does she think she is? Wendy can stop playing God now, everyone here fucking knows she’s perfect. Of course she knows that Stan fucking loves ACDC and of course she knows that Kyle needed to breathe and of course she fucking came out of the shower just before the last motherfucking song ended and just before Stan ripped Kyle a new one and of fucking course she knew exactly what to do to calm Kyle down and maybe if you weren’t so fucking perfect you might have been low enough to reach poor measly directionless Stan’s motherfucking level, Wendy, maybe if you weren’t so high and mighty you might be able to recognize how much you’re hurting us by going to fucking Princeton? Wendy? Princeton? Really? Who the fuck even cares about Princeton? Maybe if you were less fucking phenomenal Wendy the rest of us might have a chance at shining but because you decided to be the fucking sun the rest of us have to settle for a dim glow that only really matters when you’re in the shower, perfectly timing yourself to the beat of whatever shitty music you listen to, Wendy-

And she’s turned to him. She hears him. Her eyes stare into his and he knows she heard him. She hears the panic he hasn’t been able to drown out with volume and the sadness and the confusion and the anger. She hears him now, even in this sudden deafening silence, because as soon as he realizes he’s yelling he snaps his mouth shut. He isn’t supposed to have said any of that. But Kyle still has his hands in his hair but his eyes are locked onto Stan’s forehead like he’s trying to use whatever x-ray vision being the town’s fucking genius must have given him to see the cogs turning in Stan’s head. Stan takes a long, deep breath through his teeth and uses it to sit up fully. He hunches his shoulders and stares at the footboard. Everything is still and Stan thinks for one sick moment that maybe he could find happiness in this tense moment because despite the fact that he knows he’s just fucked everything up at least the world isn’t moving anymore and he has time to think. But the way Kyle’s irises shift rapidly around his body and the sound of Wendy tossing her wet hair over the other shoulder are dead giveaways to the fact that he just can’t freeze time and he can feel his heart cracking. If Stan wasn’t losing them before, he’s lost them now. The pressure builds and heats, sears across his cheeks and weighs down his stomach. Stan feels himself curl in, and he is feeling the weight of two sets of eyes on his head, staring him down.

“Stan,” Wendy says softly. It’s not angry. Stan has to fight every muscle in his body to keep from jerking away in embarrassment and overwhelming sadness. He keeps his head bowed, he knows the tone Wendy’s set has been softened so she has room to grow angry. A sharp sigh and a shifting in the bedding has Stan’s head bowing further, his back bending so he’s gotten his head as close to his crossed legs as possible. Kyle’s leaving the bed, Stan knows, and he’s going to leave Stan alone in his room and Wendy’s going to go home and they’re going to leave him alone again again again and this time forever because he can’t handle anyone right now, he can’t even handle himself, Kyle must be so fucking sick of his black-hole like sadness and Wendy’s so motherfucking tired of his whining and they deserve so much better, they’re so much better than he is and God, God fucking damn does he hate himself, he’s completely and utterly worthless, he can’t fucking breathe-  
And then there is change.

Kyle has shifted closer, not further away. He loops strong arms around Stan’s chest, under his armpits, and hauls him closer. Stan lets himself go limp, and his head rolls to thump solidly against Kyle’s chest. 

He’s sitting in his lap now, tucked under Kyle’s chin and curled in on himself. He tries to look up at Wendy, but it’s harder than he thought it would be with Kyle wrapped around him like this. Despite being completely encompassed by warm, linen limbs and a ductile core, Stan pulls his head free and finds Wendy’s face. She stands there, glowing marble in the cold morning light, looking down at them with white eyes. The tears spill, and the light trapped in the water there leaks down the sides of her cheeks, leaving her eyes doe-brown once again. She breathes deeply through her nose, and Stan finds he can only hear it because he has dimmed the sound of Kyle whispering to him. He watches while Wendy does her best to pull herself together, but even she knows it’s hard when she’s hovering there in a towel at the foot of a bed with two boys intertwined and rocking. Kyle is pulling Stan in and in and in, and it’s like he’s trying to physically protect Stan from the horrors of the world, and Wendy sniffs deeply again, looking at what must be a sorry fucking sight, until she hitches the towel up a little and moves around to sit on the edge of the bed. She’s looking at him head on, eye level now, and Stan feels like he’s lost his soul to this woman. Kyle stills, and Wendy tips into Stan, lips pressing into his with nothing but pressure. His eyes are wide open, staring at her lids, she isn’t moving, Kyle isn’t moving, they aren’t moving, nothing is moving-

And again, there is change. Kyle extracts himself from Stan, Wendy uses the towel that was once around her body to wrap up her hair. She stands bare in front of them and even Kyle stops to stare at her soft stomach, the folds in her skin at her sides, the long purple lines striping up her lower abdomen, across her upper arms, down her breasts. Wendy is all cold colours, sharp and defined lines across marble flesh, long trails of cool water. Stan is looking at her with almost difficulty, he feels like he should lower his eyes in reverence. Dark dark dark inky hair on her legs sweeps up to an ocean between her thighs, the same hair scattered across her forearms is soft looking, and Stan hasn’t ever felt invited to touch anything more than he has Wendy’s body. This is love.

Kyle crawls off the bed behind him and the bouncing of the mattress wakes him from his veneration. He recognizes the look on Kyle’s face, and though he can’t place it, Stan knows he’s seen it before. Kyle looks at Wendy like he wants to put his mouth on every inch of her bare body, and Stan shares the sentiment, feels it deep in his bones, but feels almost as though he knows his place is back here, on this bed, unnoticed, untouched, unworthy. Kyle adds his hands to Wendy’s, long sun-freckled fingers joining her short thick ones in rubbing her hair as dry as possible. He is standing chest to shoulder with her, perpendicular to Stan, and his head dips into her ear and whispers things to her that Stan would never be good enough to hear. She turns her head and kisses the corner of his mouth, one hand leaving her hair to wipe away tears from his eyes, his cheeks, his chin. She drags the hand down his chest, settling on his ass, pulling him closer. Her other hand leaves his to finish the work as she turns into his chest and whispers back to him, into his neck. They make continuous eye contact, and Stan realizes they’ve been apart as long as Stan’s been alone. He’s been selfish. He’s been oblivious and dramatic, but he can’t even dwell on this as he tries desperately to read their lips.

Wendy pulls away from Kyle and takes the towel into her own hands, shaking it through her hair one more time and rubbing vigorously as she pulls it away from her head. Kyle is toying with the band on his boxers, wanting to pull them off, Stan knows, but unsure. Kyle looks up and makes a very fierce eye contact with Stan, and suddenly he is laying back on the bed, being shoved backwards, his spine hitting the wall with sharp and sudden cold. Stan’s chin is lifting to keep eye contact with Kyle as he draws nearer and nearer, and Kyle is hissing words to him, he feels himself curling in on himself, he’s apologizing before he can even hear Kyle’s words. Wendy’s laugh cuts through him, though, and Kyle has his calves locked around Stan’s ass, touching the wall. Stan’s legs are bent over Kyle’s thighs and Kyle has him by the hips. He’s rubbing circles into the bones there with his thumbs, working the tight, tan flesh there. He lunges forward like a tiger going in for the kill, attaching himself to Stan’s jugular, sucking fiercely. It’s only once Kyle’s eyes are out of his sight that Stan can think again, can process Kyle’s words- words like “I’m sorry,” like “I love you so much,” “we love you so much,” “I didn’t know,” “what did you do to yourself,” and “I’ll never leave you again.” Stan feels himself go red at the idea of setting this off and he’s whispering his own apologies into Kyle’s hair. Wendy’s hair is damp now, and she stands with her knees touching the edge of the bed, her hands reaching towards him. She calls for Kyle to fuck off, that he’s had his turn, and with one last long pull on the flesh at his neck Kyle pulls away, leaving room for Stan to shove around him and into Wendy’s hands. Stan sits with his feet on the floor and knees spread around Wendy’s wide hips, hands exploring her sides, her back, her ass and thighs, playing harmonies across the string chords of her stretchmarks as she kisses him. Her tongue is languid, her eyelashes are long and dark and Stan lets his eyes close, losing himself in the feeling of her under his hands.


	3. getting some

Wendy pulls away again, wiping saliva from the corner of his mouth as she draws her hands from his cheeks. Kyle is between his legs now, on his knees, and Stan flushes hard as Kyle works his briefs off. Stan’s almost totally hard, kissing gods will do that to you, and Kyle has him in his mouth in seconds. Stan’s eyes fall shut again as Wendy closes the gap between them again, kissing him hard and fast now. She’s conveying a message to him, a message he cannot get because his dick is occupied and his mouth is occupied and he can’t decipher the code of body language when he doesn’t have control of his own body. Wendy seems to understand this, so she pulls away just enough to whisper into his mouth. She murmurs her own apologies, her assurances and her thoughts, she tells him how much she loves him, how much she wants to do this forever, how _sorry_ she is, how she didn’t _think_ -

And now there are tears pricking at his own eyes, spilling down his own cheeks. Stan wants to both tear away from them both to scream at his heart for feeling this incredible pain and shove himself infinitely and infinitesimally further into them, to enter them completely and never be any further from them than this. He’s torn, he’s tearing himself in two, he’s tearing up again and Wendy makes the decision for him. She pulls back but pulls him with her, he stands to stay connected to her tongue and his eyes flash open as he feels a very brief scrape of teeth around the middle of his cock. Kyle almost chokes, Stan’s essentially just shoved himself further into Kyle’s mouth. Stan immediately breaks with Wendy to pull his hips back and apologies are starting to spill out of his mouth even as Kyle snarls around his dick and snatches Stan’s calloused hands into his own pallid ones. Kyle guides Stan’s hands to the back of bright red hair and presses them, trying to convey that Kyle needs this, needs to show Stan what he needs. Stan can’t even look down anymore as Wendy’s captured his mouth again, pulled his tongue back into her mouth and snatched his ass into her hands. Stan’s fingers clench instinctively when Wendy squeezes, his mouth opening completely as Kyle groans lowly into his crotch. Stan feels Kyle’s sharp nose hit his pubic bone and breathes harshly into Wendy’s mouth, though whether it’s a gasp or a plea or a whine or a moan is lost on all three of them.

Kyle pulls almost to the tip, as far back as Wendy’s stomach will let him, and Stan pulls away from her to look Kyle in the eye. Kyle is begging for something, but Stan is at a loss. Wendy takes to his neck, and whispers hints to him. Kyle wants him to pull his hair, Kyle wants him to push him down onto Stan’s cock, Kyle wants to be called nasty things and have his throat fucked. Kyle’s mouth never moves, but the tongue on the underside of Stan’s dick slides from side to side, leaving Stan red faced and hot. Stan is staring into liquid chocolate eyes as he tightens his grip in thick red curls and hisses as he applies light, experimental pressure to the back of Kyle’s head. Kyle’s eyes roll back in his head and Stan angles his head so Wendy can get at the joint of his neck she’s been working towards. He whispers to Kyle, mouth feeling hot and airy, and Kyle whines at his crotch. Kyle’s making it up to him, Stan supposes, Kyle’s doing the only thing he’s really good for here. Kyle’s really quite pathetic at this point, he’d put his mouth around anything presented to him. He’s a _slut_ , really, Kyle, you’re just a horny bitch for this. You’d do _anything_ to get a cock like this into your mouth, wouldn’t you? To get a body like hers behind you? And it feels so wildly different to Stan, because this is what Kyle does to _him_ , Kyle is the one who whispers filthy things in his ears and curls around Wendy with strong limbs and possessive teeth. Kyle is so much better at this than Stan, but the way the saliva drips onto the floor between Stan’s feet and the perpetually rolled-back eyes staring up at him say he’s doing alright. Kyle chokes and his eyes flash open, and Stan immediately releases his hair. Kyle tears away from the cock in front of him and shoves the top of his head into Stan’s thigh, back arching and tensing as ragged gasps rip through him. Stan is concerned for a second until Kyle keens, and he watches him pump himself into his own hand.

Wendy groans into his shoulder and Stan finds his right hand trailing in between Wendy’s legs, burying long fingers into coarse dark hair, into soft wet heat. He draws long stroking lines over her hood, running just in between her lips and circling into her clit. She pants into his shoulder, obviously losing herself in the feeling, until Stan stills. Long white fingers are curling around his still hard cock, and Kyle has lifted his head to stare up at them, trapped between two sets of thick thighs. Stan feels his mouth fill and his cock hurts, Kyle is all wild curls and blown pupils and tugging fingers. Wendy rolls her hips and Kyle lets his hand drop and stands on shaky legs. Wendy pulls him close to her and Stan’s fingers are replaced with Kyle's on her clit. She moans into his mouth and Stan’s cock jumps. Stan takes to palming himself softly and watching his lovers remind themselves of one another, hands roaming and bodies pressing desperately together.

Stan sits on the bed with his legs tossed over the edge, splayed out and tugging on his cock lazily. Wendy catches the movement from just behind Kyle’s shoulder and Kyle steps back, turns to Stan and stares. Wendy crawls onto the bed and settles into the pillows, sliding her first two fingers in between her legs and setting a rhythm for herself. Kyle’s cock is half hard, and he wraps long white fingers around Stan’s muscular thighs, tugging him down a couple of inches so his ass was just barely off the bed. Kyle braces one knee beside Stan’s hip and his left arm slides up to lay around Stan’s head mouthing at his beard and neck. Stan breathes deeply as he feels rough, bitten fingertips play along his ass, taking Kyle in as best he can with his forehead pressed into the crook of his neck.

Long wiry arms pin him to the bed, sprayed with golden sun-rendered freckles and constantly moving with the tensing of muscles wrapped tightly in pale skin. Soft flesh shifts up and around the swan-like neck as Kyle swallows and his Adam’s apple bobs, hollowing and tightening as he stresses his sloping shoulders to curl his fingers into Stan’s hair and to scrape gently at his ass. Stan’s hands move from his own body to Kyle’s, running up and over soft soft soft skin, pulling folds taut at his sides as he rubs up and down, only for them to release and crease again. Kyle has long white stripes of his own, but they live almost exclusively on his lower stomach, the bright highlights fading into his chest like sunbeams reaching too far into the sky to retain shape. The softness around Kyle’s lower abdomen molds around Stan’s hips as Kyle presses himself down into Stan’s side, filling the cracks in both Stan’s body and soul with bright silver light. Kyle kisses him slowly, pulling Stan’s lip into his mouth and letting his teeth scrape along the sensitive pink flesh. Kyle presses two fingers, slick and round, to Stan’s entrance. Stan tenses hard and then releases, taking in barely the tip of one finger. Kyle nudges Stan’s left leg up as he shimmies forward, kneeling fully now on the bed. Stan locks his newly raised leg around Kyle’s waist and pulls his right up to his chest, trying to pull it out and around Kyle’s left. Kyle stills and lets him shift, pulling his legs apart and presses down further into his face. Stan slips his tongue into Kyle’s mouth as Kyle presses his finger a little harder into Stan’s entrance, gaining leeway slowly and surely. Kyle looks up and to the left, at Wendy, who’s breathing hard enough for Stan to hear through the thrumming in his ears and suddenly Stan mouth is full of Kyle’s groan and his ass is tightening around almost a full finger. Kyle strokes his walls and Stan breaks off to force his forehead into Kyle’s shoulder, panting. Kyle presses further in and hooks his finger, searching.

Hot breath at Stan’s ear and fingers tight in his hair are the only things keeping him from throwing his head back and whining. The tip of Kyle’s finger grazes along Stan’s prostate and Stan immediately goes slack. His mouth falls open and his eyes roll back in his head, a long, pleasured groan spilling from his mouth into the ceiling. Wendy grunts beside him, obviously enjoying their show. Kyle slid his middle finger in to join his first, sliding in and out and curling at the end to touch the spot and ease the walls’ constricting. When Stan’s breathing goes quieter and each extension of Kyle’s digits ends in a quiet breathy yelp, he takes to stretching him out. Stan is just groaning now, cock leaking and chest heaving. Kyle alternates fingers touching his prostate quickly, and the tickling and constant pressure against the bundle of nerves sets Stan letting out a high pitched whine, breathing erratic and hips jerking. Wendy shifts at his right, and Kyle pulls his fingers out of Stan’s ass, leaving him horny and begging. Kyle hauls him closer, into his lap, and Stan lays there, limp and too-stimulated to do anything except plead breathily. Kyle takes the offered condom from Wendy and tears it open, pulling it out slowly and turning it in his hands. He presses a finger to the underside, squinting, and then flips it over. They always have this problem, they’re not good at whipping it out and sliding it on. Wendy’s snickering at him while he test this side too. The sides unroll easier, and Wendy looks at it approvingly as well. Kyle looks at her with clearly questioning eyes and she nods at him encouragingly. Stan feels his face stretch into a grin and he hopes for Kyle’s sake she’s right. He looks at it warily again, but rolls it carefully over his cock. There’s a beat of tense silence, another one, everything is still and the suspense is thick enough in the air for it to change the way they breathe-

And Kyle sighs heavily, easing back from his careful straightbacked tense-up to a folded, comfortable and soft settling. They’ve gotten it right this time, thank God, and Stan is grinning and still painfully hard and Wendy is laughing affectionately as she gropes along his freshly wrapped cock, hand slick with KY from the nightstand and Kyle is sitting there, slumped but proud with a playfully smug smile stretched across his face. They’re getting good at this. Wendy kisses Kyle’s chest and pats his stomach- she’s done and he’s ready. He murmurs his thanks as she goes to straddle Stan’s chest. Kyle’s eyes are hooded and he’s absolutely taken with her, eyes following the lines of her creases and folds, hands moving from Stan’s hips to trace along long purple and red strokes of sunset against a porcelain sky. Kyle pitches forward to kiss her back, pushing his long, sharp nose into the softness of her shoulder blades, as he leaves his own sunset colours on her back. Stan stares up at her, and from directly below her it looks like she’s this ethereal goddess, larger than life and a powerful deity. Her skin glows in the young light of the sunrise and Stan is fixated on the folds just below her chin- he wants to put his mouth there more than anything in the world. His cock is heavy and he is in love, and when she leans down to kiss him and he feels her wet against his stomach he can do little more than open himself up to her, let her in and try to drown her in his groan. His hands shoot up when she starts to move away, and as Kyle presses his head into her back and his cock into Stan’s ass Stan tangles his hands into the night sky of her hair and pulls her back to his mouth. She’s smiling into the kiss and she tastes like Stan’s toothpaste, Stan feels her tongue slide over his and Kyle’s got the head of his cock in, Stan can hear him panting hard behind Wendy. Stan groans around Wendy for Kyle, and the response he receives is sharp and shoots up his spine. Stan tears away from Wendy as pitches his head back into the bed, and Wendy rubs her hand up and down his chest, soothing and tender. The tips of her acrylic nails run gently over his nipples up over his neck to behind his ears, carving out promises of pleasure and declarations of affection into his skin.

With Kyle finally pressing his hipbones into the soft muscle of Stan’s ass, Wendy raised herself on round knees to shimmy forward, all the while looking at Stan. She whispered her question to him at the same time he whispered his own- they asked for the same thing. Wendy laughed wetly and moved so she was hovering above Stan’s face. His hands tracked up her front one more time, sliding into and out of grooves and folds in the soft skin and up and over violet streaked breasts. He rubbed calloused fingers over the peaks of her breasts almost to the point of pain, where she pushed her chest into his hands and pitched out a whine. He let his hands drop and slid the down to his cock, cupping his balls and gripping the base. Wendy lowers herself carefully, and Stan finds himself wishing impatiently that she would just let him have her. When she finally settles to his mouth he surges up into her, and he hears her let out a surprised gasp and slam her hands to the wall above his head. She had no warning as he licked from entrance to clit, burying his nose in the coarse black hair surrounding. The slick folds were spread wide by Stan’s attentions, tongue delving in as far as he could reach it. Wendy’s breath hitches roughly and the harsh sigh is ended by something dangerously close to a whimper. Wendy’s fingers thread into Stan’s hair and hold his head between her palms tightly. Kyle starts to move, shallow thrusts opening Stan’s hole and working the entrance. Stan moans into the dark wet heat above him and wraps his lips around her clit. Wendy presses down into his mouth and the shift in position means she’s thrown her head back. She barks out Kyle’s name and rides Stan’s face, hips swirling and thrusting away from his tongue. Stan knows she feels overwhelmed, he knows Kyles caught her hair in his hands and is tugging, knows she loves that. He’s probably pitched forward, judging by the way he’s grinding into Stan instead of thrusting, Kyle knows Stan takes a minute to adjust properly and he loves kneading Wendy’s breasts. Stan presses the tip of his tongue just under her clit and rubs in relentless circles, sucking hard. She whimpers and cries, pleading with the boys around her. She tosses and grinds, and Stan follows her movements, keeping the pressure and pleasure constant and unyielding. She’s begging them to stop, and Stan listens to Kyle whispering praise to her and Stan feels his agreement with Kyle swell in his chest. Wendy _is_ such a good girl for them, she _is_ so beautiful and _so, so good_. She’s everything they want and more, she’s absolutely phenomenal, perfect in every way. She _is_ their favourite, she _is_ amazing. Stan wishes his mouth was free to tell her what he thinks specifically- Kyle might be better at talking dirty, but Stan’s better at pillow talk. He wants to wax poetic for hours about how much he loves her, about the way her hair feels like silk in his hands and the way she glows in the light. He wants to tell her all about how he sees striped Japanese camellia petal patterns in her hips and up her abdomen and carnelian druzies in her irises, but he can’t, so he settles for trying to work the message into her swollen, aching labia, easing the pulling arousal he knows she feels. A finger brushes his chin, and Stan works his way back up to torment Wendy’s clit to give Kyle room to slide a Stan-slick digit into Wendy. The sudden cry from Wendy in nothing but encouraging, and the three of them move in tandem to drag her into a high-pitched, keening orgasm. Stan sucks her through, letting her pulse into his mouth and running the flat of his tongue along her slit. He dips his tongue into where she and Kyle meet and he hears her whimper. Her hands are nowhere to be felt anymore, so he assumes she needed them to hold herself up against the wall. She gasps his name, and then Kyle’s, and lifts with shaky legs to roll off him. The room is too bright for Stan to adjust immediately, so he settles for closing his eyes and licking around his mouth, trying to get more of her taste in his mouth. She lays next to Stan, shaking and limp, breathing heavily and grinning. Stan lets his head fall to stare at her, and bends his neck to kiss her shoulder. She lets out a breathy laugh and Kyle calls to her, asking if she’s okay. She looks at him from underneath her lashes and tells him she’s great. Kyle asks her if it was good, and she rolls her eyes. Of course it was good. It was Stan. And Kyle isn’t bad at fingering, either. She turns to Stan now, though, and looks him square in the eye. Kyle grinds further into him and Wendy’s eyes bore into his soul- their meaning is very clear: Stan’s turn.

Stan barely has time to let out an exhausted moan before Kyle is hitching up Stan’s hips and pulling almost all the way out, chest flush with Stan’s stomach and chin brushing the hair on Stan’s pecs. Stan lifts his head to stare at him, and finds himself swimming in sepia. Stan whimpers at the warmth and Kyle lunges to kiss him. He’s full, suddenly: his mouth is full of Kyle and his arms are full of Kyle and his ass is full of Kyle and between his knees and his fingers and his eyes and his heart-  
Stan’s jaw goes slack as Kyle fucks into him, grazing across his prostate with most thrusts and kissing along his chest. Stan works a hand in between them, and Kyle shifts back to give him room to pump himself. Stan’s eyes lock onto Kyle’s, and he sees it: the look he saw on Kyle’s face when Wendy unwrapped her towel. Kyle wants to be all over Stan in every sense of the word, Kyle wants to kiss him the way he kisses Wendy and Stan feels so big in the moment that he feels his chest tighten. Stan forces himself up to wrap his arms around Kyle’s neck and Kyle has to struggle to keep himself inside him, pitching sideways when Stan can’t quite keep his ass at the right angle. They crash into Wendy’s legs and Stan pulls Kyle close, kissing him hard and hooking his left leg over Kyle’s right hip. Stan uses the leverage to shift himself to sitting in Kyle’s lap, cock still buried in his ass and Kyle’s head resting comfortably on Wendy’s plush thighs.

Kyle settles after the jerkiness warranted by the shift in position has passed, and Stan leans back on his calves, thighs round and golden in the fresh light of the morning. Stan lets his hips grind in small, slow circles, letting the ridge of Kyle’s head graze against his prostate. Stan tosses his head back and shakes his hair out of his eyes, his breathing erratic and tense. His hands splay, wide-fingered, across Kyle’s soft, flushed-pink chest as he pushes himself upwards, letting the bottom half of Kyle’s shaft feel cool air. Kyle’s eyes are closed and his lips are parted, breathing deeply and rubbing long, calloused, gold-freckled hands along gilded thighs. Stan lets the tops of his toes relax and rest against the mattress, letting the weight of his body fall from the balls of his feet to the bones in his calves. Stan rolls his hips and Kyle sucks air in through his nose sharply, eyes flashing open. His hands slide from Stan’s thighs to his hips to his ass, spreading him wide and staring him down. Wendy works one hand through into Kyle’s hair, knotting the curls around her knuckles and tugging and smoothing as he shifts his hips. Stan raises himself ever so slightly and then lets himself slide back down, working his entrance open. Kyle presses both palms into the cheeks of his ass and Stan complies, raising himself again. Kyle hisses as Stan circles his hips again, trying to angle the cock inside him back towards his prostate. Kyle pulls Stan’s hips forwards, and Stan sits, the head of Kyle’s dick sliding firmly against his spot. Stan’s head drops back again, his throat and chest exposed and erection heavy and dripping. He works himself up into a rhythm, bouncing in Kyles lap, fucking himself open. With every buck of his hips and meeting of flesh a breathy, whiny sound is shoved out of him, and Stan is so full he can’t keep anything in. When Wendy’s free hand finds its way to the base of Stan’s cock, Stan almost stills to keep from coming instantly. Kyle shoves upwards messily and misses his prostate, and Stan’s eyes flash open. Kyle holds him firmly and fucks away from the sensitive spot, letting Wendy palm the head of Stan’s penis before shoving back into the bundle of nerves. Kyle watches him carefully and every so often, right when Stan knows he’s going to come, shoves a just millimeters too far back, misses his spot, and it drags tears into the corners of his eyes. Stan’s overstimulated and drooling, tongue lolling in his overfull mouth and breathing laboured. Kyle shifts under him, sometimes thrusting upwards a little harder, and after one of these Stan drops his head to look him in the eye. Stan can barely breathe as it is, the air getting fucked out of him, and suddenly he is smothered in Kyle’s dark brown irises. Wendy pushes a very gentle finger over the slit at the top of his cock and Stan is hit with the sudden realization that they are waiting for him to ask.

Stan breathes sharply through his nose and tries to take control of himself, but he is way too far gone and literally all of his bodily functions are being controlled by the two gods below him. His mouth falls open before he can think about it and pleas spill out of his mouth like an overflowing tea kettle, words hot and urgent. Stan whimpers apologies and promises, he’s bargaining with them now, and Wendy scrubs the calloused pad of her thumb over the slit. Kyle rakes his eyes over Stan’s body and stills his thrusts, holding Stan firm by the hips. Stan struggles weakly against the pressure, but Kyle holds fast and it’s clear Kyle wants to come just as badly. Stan is begging them to let him go, telling them he’ll be good and he’ll suck Kyle off and he’ll let Wendy sleep on his side of the bed and he’ll cook for a week and there are actual tears streaking down his face now, desperate to get the hand on his dick moving again, desperate to get the one in his ass shoving upwards again, and he’s actually literally crying here, there are actual real life tears and he’s crying over his own ass, you guys, _please_ , come on, I know I’ve been bad and I’m so, so sorry, Kyle, Wendy, _please, I’m sorry,_ please let me come Wendy, _come on_ , Kyle let me fuck myself, _please, please, fuck me come on, let me make you come Kyle please_ -  
And that’s what does it for Kyle. Wendy pulls her hand back sharply and Stan swears loudly, _fuck, Wendy, come on_ and Kyle has actually shoved him backwards onto the bed, dangerously close to the edge. Stan is disoriented and scared, for a second, until Kyle is shoving him to the side and pushing him around, getting him away from the foot of the bed and closer to the wall. Kyle pulls his long legs over his shoulders, and Stan feels the pull in his hamstrings. Wendy is kneeling behind him, pulling his head into her lap, tweaking his nipples and scratching across the supple pink flesh there with sharp purple nails. Stan’s body is flushed and his heart is going a thousand kilometres a second, and Kyle pitches forward to shove his tongue down Stan’s throat, moaning into his mouth desperately.

Kyle pulls almost all the way out of him, letting the kiss dissolve into something a lot less frantic and a lot more passionate, working his lips and tasting his teeth. Kyle fucks back into him, fucks the breath out of him, fucks the life out of him, fucks him absolutely stupid. Stan’s eyes are all the way back in his head and he’s only pinned to the earth by his ass and his nipples, worked thoroughly and massaged to the point of almost painful oversensitivity. Kyle pulls back, Stan’s ankles just barely making it over Kyle’s shoulders as Kyle tips back onto his calves, leaving room for Wendy to rub down Stan’s chest. The sound is absolutely filthy, wet and deep and sharp with skin meeting skin. Wendy places a very loose fist just above Stan’s navel, really just a couple of curled fingers barely brushing the tip of his cock, and every time Kyle slams into his prostate his the heavy thing sweeps across her knuckles. Stan is gasping and writhing, begging louder and more fervently than ever, tears streaking down the sides of his face and tongue lolling over his bottom lip. Stan keens with every fuck and Wendy finally lets up, arching over his body and taking the head of his cock into her mouth. She hollows her cheeks and one long pull on the tip tears an orgasm through Stan’s body. Wendy pulls away with a pop as soon as the first spurt hit the back of her throat, and Stan wails through his release. Kyle spills into him immediately after, the contractions milking him to the end. Stan goes limp as the aftershock pulses through his body.

Wendy pulls herself free of the tangle and crawls off the bed, and Stan loses sight of her as Kyle fills his vision. Lips meet, but there’s almost no movement for a moment, mouths just pressed together in a liplock that only moves with the after-orgasm full-body spasms. Stan’s right leg is curling around Kyle’s knees and his left foot is still hanging just over Kyle’s shoulder when Wendy comes back in with a damp washcloth and a towel. Kyle kisses Stan’s ankle and accepts the washcloth, sliding out of Stan with the wettest, softest slippery feeling in the world. Kyle cackles at Stan’s face and wipes him up gently, making sure to mop up the stuff on his chest and stomach, as well. He tosses the wet cloth behind him and closes his eyes tightly. All three of them are silent and tense with anticipation, and when the sound of the washcloth hitting the bag in the trashcan by the door rings true all three of them light up in a half cheer, half gasp. Kyle is still grinning as he dries them off, and stands up to pull the condom off. He takes four tries to tie it off, because it’s disgustingly slippery and even he is getting grossed out, but just as he makes it within arm’s reach of the bin he gets it right and drops it in with the washcloth. Kyle walks around the bed as Stan and Wendy settle into the pillows, moving into the bathroom to toss the towel into the hamper. Stan presses his mouth to Wendy’s, and she reciprocates fully, passion flowing from lips to soul and back again.

The bed dips behind Stan and long, lean arms wrap around his shoulders as he breaks off with Wendy. Stan can feel his brain catch up to his body as the aching starts to hit him. Wendy presses her left thigh between Stan’s legs and Kyle’s leg fits in just under hers, locking each other in place. Wendy curls into Stan’s chest and pulls her right knee up over his hip, creating a flat, wide plateau, and Kyle pulls the plate retrieved from Stan’s desk off the nightstand where it sat temporarily onto her thigh. Stan almost laughs and he almost cries, they’ve put together a plate of crackers and fruit because they know he wouldn’t have eaten anything but shitty plain noodles for the last few weeks. He tugs grapes off the vine silently and Wendy nibbles carefully into a cracker, looking up at him expectantly. Stan looks down into her and feels Kyle take a deep breath. He knows something’s about to come.

Kyle breathes questions into his ear, asking him about the surgery for his knees and the bruises on his sides. Stan is too comfortable, too clean and safe and easy-feeling to lie, so he spills. He tells them around chunks of melon about the second round of surgery he needed to repair the cruciate ligament in his right knee and the third for the tear in the menisci in both. He murmurs apple-flavored confessions about lying to his coach and playing anyways, but the painkillers he took meant he bruised easier and when he gets to a strawberry infused lament about brutal tackles and torn stitches and a foul called, he feels the arms around his torso tighten. He sighs deeply, apologetically, and lets his head drop into the pillow. Wendy tucks her head into his neck and Kyle snatches one more cracker off the plate before letting it fall to the nightstand behind him. Kyle settles into Stan’s back and kisses his ear, and Wendy takes to filling the silence with Princeton’s many flaws. She talks quietly about how she’s afraid of being far from her family, and that it just doesn’t make financial sense when she can get a degree that means just as much from U of D, and Stan feels the tightness in his chest return. Kyle tells her in hushed tones that he’s actually looked into the U of D, and really liked what he saw. Stan’s is suddenly lumpy and his stomach turns. He didn’t apply to anywhere. He finds himself praying that they don’t ask him what he thinks, because he knows that they’re implying something very gently, and his lips thin into a line and despite the fact they’re both heavenly he guesses they just ignore prayers sometimes because Kyle is squeezing his chest and whispering questions about his thoughts on Denver into the shell of his ear.

Stan shrugs noncommittally, and mentions in a voice way smaller than it should have been that he didn’t really care, because he never applied. Wendy tells him in a voice light with laughter that Kyle didn’t ask about the university, he asked about the city. Stan shrugs again and tells them he likes a coffee shop on 6th. Kyle asks him what he’d think of a very small, shitty ass apartment there. Wendy tells him it’ll be really close to the university, so she’s not sure whether that’s close enough to walk to the coffee shop but she’s sure it’s like probably only one bus away max. Stan is feeling soft and tingly suddenly, and he reminds them that he didn’t apply. Kyle asks him if he’s still working on the book he started in junior year. Stan tells him it’s a slow process and it’s not something he can really plan all the time. Wendy tells him the apartment Kyle looked at has big windows. Kyle adds there’s curtains. Stan laughs. Kyle tells him he’s proud of him anyways, and he’s pissed that Stan lied and he’s pissed that Stan played and he’s pissed that he came home to Stan in a bitch fit but he says all this with such a stupid fucking smile on his breath that Stan is sure that if there was anything in the world he would die for it’s this feeling, this feeling of laughing after a shitstorm and curling up inside the most physical representation of love he could find and eating grapes off a plate on his girlfriend’s ass at six fifteen in the morning and watching his boyfriend struggle to figure out which way a condom went on even though they’ve been doing this for a year and the fact that Wendy mentioned the windows despite Stan always saying he hated big ones because they felt too revealing because she sees through his bullshit and the lightness in his heart at not being yelled at when he deserves it and really, at the base of it all, the feeling of a very solid chest at his back and a very solid torso in his arms, two solid people to help recrystallize a shattered and scared Stan, two people to shake him back into reality because no matter what he felt, they knew he wasn’t even half as broken as he thought some days and they weren’t afraid to tell him to get his head out of his ass. This is love.

He hears them waiting, though, he hears two heartbeats around him and one inside him but he can’t tell which beat belongs to which and which thump goes with which surge of blood in which set of blue veins under which flesh on which wrist and he knows he has to speak. He hears them falter a little when the words don’t come out of his mouth and he hears the wheels start to turn, they’re trying to figure out how to retract the offer when it looks like he’ll decline. He feels himself process a sudden shiver of doubt, but the uncomfortable shifting around him shakes him back into surety and if Wendy can be platinum and Kyle can be silver then Stan can be gold, so he laughs and he says of course, and he takes their offer and he takes their hands and he breathes in for the first time with the weight of change and the weight of time not quite lifted from his chest but absolutely now shared by two other chests, and if he’s seen those two chests carry the sun in their hearts and the moon in their mouths then they can wrap time and change around their knuckles and use them to knock out anything that gets in their way. And Stan falls asleep and Wendy falls asleep and Kyle falls asleep and the sun rises again and the day comes and none of it ever fucking mattered in the first place, because this is love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks buddy


End file.
